


Little Soldier Boy

by blakeisbaby



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: ...kinda. It's complicated, A complete disregard of historical and medical accuracy in favor of angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/almost no comfort, Kinda, M/M, Suicide, Violence, i lied i got soft, okay... a little bit of accuracy I did lots of research for this lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakeisbaby/pseuds/blakeisbaby
Summary: Will wakes up in Ecoust with no memory of where he is, or even who he is. As he stumbles through a war he doesn't remember, he finds himself confronted with the ghosts of a past he doesn't even know exists. The world he woke up in is cruel beyond measure and yet he holds hope in his heart, for peace, for kindness, for love...
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 22
Kudos: 76





	1. The town

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy... this is going to get reaaaal heavy. I haven't put all the warnings yet because I don't want to spoil anything, but there will be lots of triggers in this in the next chapters. Warnings will be posted in the end of chapter notes!! A big thank you to everyone in the discord!! Especially to my love Georgie!! Thank you for reading!!

There’s water dripping on his forehead, each drop that falls bring him closer to awareness. He opens his eyes and is met with only darkness. He slowly lifts his hand and feels the back of his heads. He hisses in pain as he does, his skull feels like it’s been cracked open. He brings his hand in front of his face and sees that is fingers are coated in a dark substance. Blood? When did he hit his head?

He starts to sit up gradually, the pain in his head making him dizzy. He has to use the railing next to him to help support his weight, but he manages to eventually settle himself at the bottom of the stairs. He takes a second to look around, to try and get his bearings. He’s in… a house? The absence of any light indicates that it must be nighttime. He notices he has a watch on his wrist but it’s broken. He taps it a few times for good measures, but the mechanism remains silent.

He starts to get up gingerly, every muscle in his body protesting at the action. There’s this panic at the edge of his subconscious, like he has somewhere to be, something to do. But as much as he tries to think, nothing comes to his mind. After some considerable efforts, he manages to stand, though he sways on his feet a bit. Just as he’s getting used to supporting his weight, a light suddenly fills the staircase, making him close his eyes in discomfort. He blinks quickly, eyes adjusting to the brightness. It seems to be coming from the room upstairs, so he walks towards it, curious to find the source of the light.

As he starts to climb up, he notices… something, laying on the ground at the top stairs. The peculiar object looks complex, made out of wood and metal. He feels a strange sense of familiarity towards it. He reaches out to it slowly before stopping abruptly, fingers only a few inches away. He can’t bring himself to touch it, knowing in the back of his mind that this object is dangerous, yet he doesn’t know why.

He reaches the top of the stairs, careful not to touch the strange object, and his breath cuts short. The door to the room is ajar and he can see a person, a man, sitting against the wall. He’s incredibly still and his eyes are glassy, looking out into nothing.

Dead.

He can smell the blood that’s soaking the man’s clothes.

Dead.

He feels bile rise in his throat and he has to bring a hand to his mouth to keep from screaming.

Dead.

He turns around briskly and runs down the stairs two at the time. He can’t be in the house anymore, he needs to get out. Now.

He steps out into darkness and feels like he’s floating, not sure which way is up and which way is down. There’s a loud noise and light explodes around him once again. The brightness of it makes his head hurts and yet he can barely register it, the pain only an afterthought. Everything feels distant, like this is some sort of dream, a nightmare perhaps.

He’s in what appears to be a town, but the buildings are in such poor state that he can’t say it with certitude. He’s barely made ten steps outside the house when a loud bang echoes around him and he feels something fly past him incredibly fast. He stops, completely frozen in his track. What was that?

Another bang, closer to him this time, and he sees something ricochet on the fence next to him. His body moves on its own, making him run through the ruined city, trying to find somewhere to hide as more bangs and voices echo around him. He runs past a building on fire and it makes him stagger a bit. He knows what towns and cities look like, _he knows_. What could have happened here to cause such destruction, to leave life in such ruins?

There’s a shadow next to the fire, a person. He stops running, chest heaving. A person, standing and not dead. Maybe they can help him, tell him where he is, what’s going on. The person is walking towards him now, holding something that looks just like the object he saw on top of the stairs. The person, a man, is running towards him now and-

Bang.

He’s shooting at him. The thing on the floor at the house, that’s what it did. It was a rifle. _His_ rifle.

He’s running again, his body working faster than his mind. He hears more gunshots and shooting behind him but he doesn’t dare to look. He spots a window at ground level on one of the buildings. He kicks it in and slips into the opening, hoping that the man with the rifle hasn’t seen him. He holds his breath as footsteps resonate on the street above.

He exhales slowly once he’s sure the man isn’t coming back. He turns around prudently, analyzing the basement for any potential threats. There’s a small doorway at the end of the room with some kind of fabric hung over it. Still, he can catch the glimmer of a flame beyond it. He walks into the small room as carefully as he can, hoping he won’t find another man with a rifle.

What he finds instead is a woman hiding in the corner of the room, her eyes wide and afraid. “Il n'y rien ici. Nous n'avons rien pour vous. S'il vous plaît.”

He doesn’t understand what she’s saying, but he knows she’s just as scared as he is. He raises his hands slowly, shows her that he means no harm.

She looks at him, confused. “Vous êtes Anglais? Mais ou sont les autres?”

“I don’t-” His voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in years. “I don’t understand.”

“Others?” The young woman looks like she’s pleading him, but for what, he doesn’t know.

“Are you talking about the men outside? The ones with the rifles? I’m not with them, I swear.” He tries to speak slowly, hoping she understands him.

She’s looking at him with wide eyes now, afraid. “Vous êtes un déserteur…” She whispers.

He shakes his head. “ I don’t under-”

“Vous devez partir.” She cuts him off, steel in her voice. “Vous ne devriez pas êtres ici, vous allez nous attirer des ennuis.”

He can’t make sense of the words she’s saying, but he understands her tone well enough.

“Partez.” She points to a set of stairs on the other side of the room.

“I-”

“Leave.” There’s anger in her voice and desperation in her eyes. He can’t stay here, she won’t allow it. He climbs the stairs slowly, reluctant to leave behind the only safe haven he’s found since he woke up.

He leaves the basement without looking back and finds himself back on the streets of the ruined city, the burning building still only a short distance away. He walks the opposite way from it, trying to keep in the shadows.

A man emerges from a building suddenly, stumbling on his feet and speaking loudly. He reminds him of the man with the rifle. He ducks into a doorway and holds his breath, hoping that his strategy will work again this time. He hears the man vomiting and realizes that he might have a chance to get past him. He walks into the building and finds himself face to face with a young man. They lock eyes, both frozen in horror. The teenager is the first one to react, screaming a word and grabbing a knife from his belt.

With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he pushes the young man to the ground and runs towards the exit as fast as he can. He bumps into the other man as he does, but he doesn’t fall. He can’t afford to. There are more shouts behind him, accompanied by the loud bangs that he now recognizes as bullets being shot.

He runs and this time he doesn’t stop. His lungs burn and his legs scream in agony, but still, he runs. The borders of the town slowly blending into a forest. The trees barely have any leaves on them and their bark is charred but he doesn't notice them, his mind focused on leading him to somewhere safe.

He runs until the only sounds he hears are the leaves being crushed under his shoes and the whisper of the wind through the branches.

He stops only because his legs collapsed under him, sending him tumbling on the forest ground. He coughs harshly, air not filing his lungs fast enough.

He stays on the ground until his breathing evens out, lungs still burning from the strain he put on them. He tries to get back up but the pain in his skull makes him fall back down. He lays there, eyes stinging with tears and he wonders why the world around him feels so, so wrong...

He wakes up with a jolt, he doesn’t remember falling asleep. The sun is high in the sky, he doesn’t know how long he’s been laying there. He gets up slowly, the muscles in his legs protesting his every movement. His head feels less bad than it did before. He feels more real, more grounded.

He walks aimlessly through the forest, trying to find something, anything, that will help him know where he is.

It’s almost sunset when he stumbles into a large field, the grass covered in weird lumps and deep craters. This place feels strange, almost otherworldly. As he walks deeper into the large meadow he notices that one of the strange lumps on the ground has a face. He stops, breath caught in his throat.

Bodies.

Thousands of them, as far as the eye can see.

His legs give up from under him and he falls on his knees, broken. He cries, his sobs loud and painful as the last rays of the sun envelop him in warmth and bathe the bodies around him in gold.


	2. The bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... obsessed with writing this it's a bit crazy lmao... I've decided to keep the chapters shorter, so it'll likely be over six now. This is starting to get a bit more heavy, so mind the tags!! Warnings for this chapter are in the end notes!! <3

Three men dressed in black find him after the sun has set. He’s still on his knees, but he’s stopped crying. He doesn’t think he has any more tears left to shed. 

They surround him and speak a language he doesn't understand. They sound angry, mocking but he pays them no mind. Then the man on his right kicks him in the ribs without warning. He topples over, hands clutching his side as his breath is cut short. Two of them grab him by the arms and haul him up roughly. He struggles to walk with them at first, legs wobbly and his breath coming out in short rasps. He manages to steady himself as they near some sort of camp at the edge of the woods. There are a few campfires strewn around, simple tents and makeshift shelters provide sanctuary for men in black uniforms.

He’s led further into the camp, the men he walks past sneer at him, one even spits at his feet. He starting to panic now, wherever these men are bringing him, it can’t be good.

“Can you please tell me what’s-”

He’s interrupted by a fist in his stomach and words he can’t understand. He doubles over but the men hoisting him do not stop, he’s a dead weight between them. He doesn’t speak their language but the message is clear; keep quiet.

They stop in front of a rudimentary enclosure, barbed wire hastily wrapped around some trees and men with rifles are standing around, watching. Inside it, about a dozen men are sitting on the ground. They look different from the men who took him here and from the ones in the destroyed town. The men carrying him throw him inside unceremoniously. Nobody looks at him as he walks through the makeshift prison. He feels like a ghost, invisible to everyone in this world. He finds a tree and leans against it, letting his body slumps to the ground.

The silence in the enclosure is suffocating, as if even the wind had stopped blowing in fear of disturbing the quiet. His mind is burning with questions, but he doesn’t dare to speak, afraid these men will hurt him too.

He’s tired, so, so tired. He doesn’t resist as his eyelids grow heavy, he only hopes sleep overtakes him quickly so he can escape from this reality, even if only for a moment.

He’s woken up by yelling. One of the men dressed in black barking orders in broken English, telling them to form a line.

He obeys absentmindedly, his thoughts preoccupied by a memory… no, a dream he had last night. He had seen a boy, with dark hair and a bright smile, standing under some kind of strange snow and talking to him about cherries.

It makes no sense, yet he can’t seem to get it out of his mind as he and the others are being led through the camp and back towards the field brimming with bodies. The task they are given is simple: find the bodies of the men dressed in black, the man yelling orders had called them German soldiers, remove their identification discs and put their remains in a pile.

Most of the others throw up at their first bodies, he does it at his fifth. It’s a kid, can’t be older than eighteen, and half his face had been torn to shreds. 

They work until the sun is low on the horizon. When they stop, they’ve made four different piles of bodies. He doesn’t know how many of them he carried there, he quit counting after twenty-six.

They are sent back to the enclosure and given a meal. The food they give them is barely edible, the bread is too taught to chew and the soup is simply some hot water with cubes of potatoes throw in it. He doesn’t mind, he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach anything more consistent anyway. 

He falls asleep not long after, as exhausted mentally than he is physically.

They repeat the same process the next day: wake up, round the bodies, eat, sleep. By the fourth day, his hands are permanently caked in blood and the smell of decaying flesh won’t leave his nose, no matter how far away he is from the field. His sense of time starts to get twisted around the sixth day, or maybe it’s the seventh, he can’t recall. But no matter what day they might be, their routine stays constant.

This changes on the morning of the tenth day, or maybe it’s the eleventh? Instead of bringing them to the field, they are sent further into the wood, towards a road. A truck is waiting there, engine still running, surrounded by a few German soldiers.

They are told to climb in and the man next to him starts running in the opposite direction. He can only watch, wide-eyed, as he doesn’t even make ten steps before getting shot in the head.

The second the last person is loaded into the truck, they’re off, driving to another place he won’t know.

They drive for hours, every bump in the road making his brain rattle in his skull. When they finally stop he thinks he’s about to pass out, the ringing in his ears loud enough to drown the yells of the german soldier in front of him.

The man calls this place a transition camp. The words mean nothing to him, but he knows this place is dangerous, vicious.

The camp is composed of four large buildings, made poorly out of wood and scrap metal. it’s surrounded by a high fence, chainlink intertwined with barbed wire. There isn’t a single tree inside the enclosure, not even a patch of grass. The ground is covered in a thick layer of dark mud. They’re brought inside the first house, where more german soldiers wait for them. They are patted down, stripped of their remaining possessions. 

The man searching him pulls a small blue tin from his breast pocket. He’s never even noticed it was there before and he doesn’t understand why his heart ache as he watches the man toss it carelessly on a table.

After that, they are given rules they must obey and are left to their own in the middle of the muddy courtyard. The first thing he does is find himself a bed, if a scratchy piece of fabric filled with hay can even be called a bed. There are men all around him here, but they do not look like the soldiers. They look like ghosts, eyes hollow and hands trembling as they speak in hushed tones.

He falls asleep, lulled by the low murmurs of voices and the smell of an upcoming storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Graphic depiction of a body. Graphic depiction of violence. (It's nothing too much, but I just want to make sure everyone is safe!!)


	3. The kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dj Khaled voice* and another one. sajdhsd I just can't stop!! I hope you'll like Viktor!! I'm not a big fan of ocs in fics, but I feel like it's necessary for this. Warnings for this chapter are in the end notes!! <3

He falls into a routine fairly easily in the camp. They are always given food at the same hour and this helps with his perception of time. Meals here barely more edible than they were back in the forest, but still he’s grateful he doesn’t have any gruesome work to do here.

He spends most of his time sitting outside, back against a house, trying to remember why he woke up in that house, why the world feels like it’s been shifted on its axis. He wants to ask the other men questions, but he’s scared of their reaction if he does. He doesn't want to get punched again.

It’s after about a week that he notices he’s gained an extra shadow. It’s a boy, not quite out of his teens yet, with dirty blond hair and a lean figure. At first, he tries to ignore it. But after a few days, he can't ignore his curiosity.

He corners the boy one evening, while most of the other men are busy with dinner. He finds him digging through the trash behind the mess hall, too preoccupied by his task to notice him approaching.

“Hello?” His unused voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to make the boy jump, clearly not expecting to have been found. 

“Why are you following me?”

The boy flinches at his words, as if he expects them to be followed by a blow.

“I won’t hurt you.” He raises his hands slowly, mimicking what he did with the woman in the basement. “I just want to know, please.”

“I… I do not know.” The boy has a thick accent, but the simple fact that he can speak his language almost makes him cry. “I think… I think it is because you do not look like other men here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are quiet, always. And you do not get…” He hesitates, searching for the right words. “You do not get letters, like me. This is why I thought you were Russian, but I made mistake.”

“Are you sure of that?” He asks, a bit desperate. “That I’m not Russian?”

The boy laughs, eyes wide in surprise. He sobers up quickly once he realizes his question was genuine. “Wait, you are not… making joke?”

“No.”

“But, how can you not know where you are from?” The kid’s eyebrows are pulled tight in confusion.

“I-” He has to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I don’t know. I just don’t.”

A silence settles over them, the kid is looking at him intently, like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle that’s missing half its pieces. Finally, the kid seems to come to a decision, his posture relaxing. “Well, if it helps, I think you are from Britain.”

Britain.

He remembers, vaguely, a small house with brown bricks and two little girls, running in the front yard, screaming in glee. He tries to remember their faces, the sound of their voices, but as soon as they came, they are gone, the memory only a vague echo in his hazy mind.

“Can you tell me why we’re here? What’s happening?” He desperate, this is his first chance to get the answers he hopelessly needs.

"The Germans have taken us as prisoners. This is a camp, like a prison"

"No, not that." He shakes his head, trying to find the right words. "Why is the world so... broken?"

The kid looks at him in complete shock. “Are you… Are you saying you do not remember the War?”

“The War?”

They talk all night. The kid, Viktor, answers his questions as much as best as he can. He tells him about Germany, about the western front, and about trench warfare. He tells him about this war to end all wars, of the last three years of constant fighting, of the millions upon millions of death. By morning he feels like his skull is about to crack open, all this new information giving him a strong headache and sick feeling in his stomach. 

He and Viktor stay close after that. They share their meals together and they spend most days sitting outside in the sun, some days in complete silence and others engaged in conversation until the sun is low in the sky. 

Viktor always answers his questions as best as he can and he tells him about his family, about a father he never knew and mother who never let anything stop her. But his favorite stories is when he speaks about his little sister, Eva, a small twelve years old with a bad attitude and a potty mouth. They always make him laugh, but it’s easy to tell Viktor misses his family dearly, his eyes always shining with tears when he talks about them.

Life in the camp isn’t easy, but the two of them manage to get by, together. They follow the rules as best as they can and avoid the guards fairly easily. Most nights, they need to salvage the trash for food, their bodies so hungry they can barely stand. It’s not ideal, but he knows they can count on each other and for now, that’s enough. 

Tuesday is the day letters get delivered to the camp. For the other men, this day is almost sacred, but for Viktor and him, it’s simply a day like any other.

A man is calling Viktor’s name loudly, walking towards them and waving a piece of paper. Viktor gets up from where they are leaning against the house and goes to meet the man, thanking him as he is handed the letter. He starts to read it as he sits back down, the expression on his face slowly morphing from curiosity to horror.

“What’s wrong?” He almost wishes Viktor doesn’t answer him.

“Mama, Eva… Dead.” The sobs he lets out is gut-wrenching. He can only watch, helpless, as his friend breaks down in front of him.

Viktor doesn’t speak after that. He tries to comfort the boy as best as he can, but nothing works. He hopes that the night will bring him comfort, but Viktor is even worse the next morning, refusing to even touch his food. They go sit outside, the silence between them unbearably painful.

There’s nothing he can do to help his friend.

It’s raining this morning. They get up for role call, Viktor still silent. They stand under the cold rain. A German officer is walking up the line slowly, screaming nonsense about discipline and rules. As the man gets closer to them, Viktor moves suddenly, lurching forward. He grabs the officer’s gun from its holster, puts it under his chin and fires.

Blood splatters on his face, the warmth of it jarring in contrast to the cold of the rain. He doesn’t scream. He can’t even breathe. He can only stand there, shaking, as they drag Viktor’s body away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Suicide (of a side character)


	4. The post

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt so bad writing this, but it was also very cathartic so?? You win some you lose some I guess?? Warnings for this chapter are in the end notes!! <3

He doesn’t realize how lost he was without Viktor until he’s alone again. There’s no one to answer his questions, no one to tell him funny stories and no one to help calm him down after he’s had a nightmare. He gets them almost every night now, he sees Viktor killing himself over and over again, never fast enough to stop him. Sometimes the nightmares are different, it’s still the same scenario, but the boy next to him isn’t Viktor, replaced by the black-haired boy who talks about cherries.

He knows the other men are tired of his whimpering at night and he tries to stay quiet, he does, but he can’t control his dreams. So instead he tries to stay as quiet as he can during the day, trying his best to become invisible.

It all comes to a head a night he wakes up screaming, his skin soaked with sweat and his throat hoarse. There’s a heavy silence for a few seconds and he feels himself tense in anticipation.

“Putain de pédale tu va arreter de gueuler!”

He jumps slightly, curling in on himself and hoping they’ll keep it at that. That everyone will just forget this and go back to sleep.

“Ah la ferme DuPont, tu geule plus fort que lui!”

They start to have an argument, other men joining in one after the other. The yelling grows louder and louder and he tries to stay still, holding his breath and being as quiet as he can.

Suddenly there’s a large hand on his shoulder, yanking him upright. More people grab at him as he tries to struggle out of the man’s grip, ice coursing through his veins as panic seise him. There’s four of them, maybe five, he can’t see in the darkness.

They’re dragging him outside. He’s trashing in their grip, kicking and screaming, begging them to stop, for someone, anyone, to help him. His pleas echo in the house, but nobody acknowledges him.

They throw him on the ground as soon as they’re out of the house. The mud is freezing, he’s only wearing an undershirt and his boxers, still drenched from the sweat of his nightmare.

He barely has time to get on his knees before someone kicks him in the ribs, making him crash back down. He gets hit again and again and again, the blows coming from all sides, relentless. He curls in on himself as best as he can, trying to protect his face with his arms. He feels like it lasts forever, his side that’s laying on the ground going numb from the cold.

Then the blows stop abruptly and the men leave without as much as a word. He lays there, trembling from fear and from the cold that’s seeping into his bones. He uncurls himself slowly and tries to sit up. He fails miserably, every muscle in his body giving up on him. His head is hurting him more than it’s ever done, his vision is swimming and he can taste blood in his mouth.

He cries silent tears as he lays there, shivering. He’s exhausted, done. He doesn’t understand why everyone is so cruel, how life has become so vile.

He lays there all night, unable to sleep despite how drained he feels. Once morning comes, he tries to get up for roll call, he knows what will happen if he doesn’t. He tries to push himself up, but his body won’t respond, muscles locked into place.

It doesn’t take long for two german guards to find him. They yell at him, ordering him to stand up, to get into rank, threatening to punish him if he disobeys. He wants to get up, he does, but he can’t, he just can’t.

The guards get fed up with him soon enough, they grab him by the arms and start dragging him across the camp. He knows where they are going, he’s seen men get carried there before. He doesn’t dare to think about it, letting himself be a dead weight between the two guards.

The other men are all looking at him as they walk past them and yet they pretend they do not see him. He wonders what he must look like, covered in mud and bruises, being carried away like a corpse.

The post looks inconspicuous enough, it’s a simple piece of wood sticking out of the ground, hidden away in a far corner of the camp. But he knows better, he knows the thing that awaits him is terrible, barbaric.

The soldiers make him stand against the post, back ramrod straight. They tie his hands and feet, forcing him to stay in a standing position. And then they leave him there without a word.

The worst part about this isn’t the pain, it’s the complete loneliness. In the camp, even if he doesn’t speak to anyone, there are always other men around, talking, living. Here, he’s alone, stuck with only his thoughts as a companion.

He wonders if someone will bring him food in the evening. The other prisoners usually have friends who do this for them, but he doesn’t have any friends, not anymore.

He’s almost asleep by the time the sun begins to set, the exhaustion of the last few days gaining on him. He’s surprised to hear footsteps coming his way. It’s an older man, black hair going gray at his temples. He must be in his forties, at least, and he’s bringing him food.

The man doesn’t say a word as he helps him eat, and he leaves just as silently as he came. He doesn’t get to thank him, but he thinks the man wouldn’t want him to.

The second day is just as worse. The sun burns his skin and he’s tired, but he can’t sleep, the ache in his bones too painful to let him rest. He tries to keep his head empty, afraid he’ll break down if he starts thinking too much.

At sundown, the same man comes again with food. He is just as silent as last time, but his presence is more than enough to help soothe him.

On the third day, he gets untied right before role call. Walking through camp is pure agony, his muscles seizing at every step. He makes it in time, barely, and steps into line feeling like he’s seconds away from passing out. The officer in charge of roll call is getting close to him, he’ll be right in front of him soon enough. 

He could grab his firearm, he knows it isn’t very hard. He could be done if he wants

The officer looks him up and down with a certain air of disgust. “You. You are wounded yes?”

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of that question, he doesn't, he only nods instead.

The officer turns around to talk to one of his man. “Ich will ihm aus von hier. die Inspektion ist Morgen und diese woll schlecht.”  
The soldier nods and moves forward to grab his arm, taking him away from the line. At first, he panics, thinking he’s about to be punished again for some unknown reason. But the soldier is simply leading him towards the building he was put in when he first arrived in the camp. There, he’s made to take a shower and is given some fresh clothes to change into.

The second he’s dressed, a soldier is leading him outside the building and then he doesn’t stop. They walk right out the gate and into the main road. There’s a truck there, full of German soldiers. They all look at him as the soldier who brought him here ties his hand behind his back.

He gets loaded into the truck alongside the soldiers, and just like that, they’re off. The truck bringing him to what he’s sure will be another nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence. Punishment (light torture) nothing too intense but you can never be too careful!!


	5. The man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is... so soft compared to all the other lmao This was the hardest chapter to write because I kept going to write the next chapter djhfdhsd Hope you like Jimmy as much as I do!!!

The ride feels like it lasts an eternity. He tries to make himself as small as possible, doesn't even dare to breathe, in hopes that the soldiers forget about his presence.

They're talking amongst themselves, laughing and paying him no mind. Still, he’s terrified that they'll suddenly remember that he's there and they'll decide to start hitting him, simply for the fun of it.

He only releases his breath once they stop, the sun high in the sky by then. Soldiers come to take him from the back of the truck, untying his hands and walking him towards the entrance of another camp.

This second camp is almost incomparable to the first. It's incredibly bigger, he can see at least twelve buildings from here and the houses look sturdy, not like they're about to fall over if the wind blows too hard. But the biggest difference for him is the trees, there's so many of them, all over the campground.

The soldiers leave him at the entrance without a word of what he should do, where he should go. He wonders around the camp trying to map his surroundings as best as he can. He keeps to the shadows of the buildings, trying to make himself invisible as he explores this new environment.

He quickly notices that every houses seams to be divided by nationalities. It's not something they had the luxury to do in the other camp, both by the lack of place and the small number of prisoners. But here, there's plenty of room to spare and there are more men than he dares to count.

He ducks into the first house he hears English being spoken in. The single large room is lined with rows upon rows of bunk beds, a few dozen men scattered between them. He sticks himself as close to the wall as he can, trying to find a vacant bed.

“You can take this bunk if you want.”

His heart skips a beat at the sudden voice and he turns, slowly, towards its source. It’s three men, sitting next to each other on one of the beds. They look like they were in the middle of a pleasant conversation but their small smiles turn to surprise when they see his face.

The older one of the group gets up, his blues eyes filled with concern. “What the hell happened to you mate, you look like went through the wringer.”

The only answer he can offer is a shrug, he doesn’t know how to begin explaining the story behind his bruises.

“What’s your name lad?”

He’s struck with the sudden realization that he doesn’t know. No one’s ever asked him before, Viktor has always referred to him with nicknames, words in Russian he can’t even begin to pronounce. It’s never even occurred to him that he has one.

“I… don’t know.”

The man looks at him, head tilted, as if he’s trying to decide if he’s being serious or not. He must see the distress in his eyes as his look of confusion slowly morphs into quiet horror. “Jesus, what did they do to you.”

The man goes to puts a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, more out of habit than anything else.

He looks like he’s about to say something when a man walking behind them gives a condescending snort.

“You taking in another stray Jimmy? I taught you learned your lesson after what happened with the psychotic kid. What was his name already? Lewis? Or maybe-”

The man doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Jimmy punches him in the throat with frightening accuracy.

The man doubles over and wheezes something that sounds a lot like “fuck you”. He leaves, hand on his throat and breath coming out in whistles.

Jimmy turns around and addresses the two men still sitting on the bed. "You two have any problems with it?"

The man with bright orange hair simply shakes his head no. “Come on.” He says as he helps his friend get up. “We’ll leave you two alone. We don't want to overwhelm the lad.”

They give him a sympathetic look as they leave, the ginger still holding on to his friend’s arm.

There's silence after that, Jimmy is looking at him intensely, his mind focused. “So you really don't remember anything?”

He shakes his head no.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions, maybe it'll help jog some memories.”

He shrugs, it's not like he's never tried it before, but he understands that Jimmy is curious about him. He's not about to refuse the man who showed him kindness.

They're all questions he's already failed to answer with Viktor. But still, he tries, hoping that if he pushes his mind harder he might be able to remember something, anything.

It changes nothing, of course. It leaves him frustrated with himself and with a headache that makes his ears ring.

Jimmy notices soon enough, and he stops asking questions. Instead, he asks him if there's anything he wants to know, anything he needs help with.

He shakes his head no and goes to sit on the bed. He hears Jimmy leave but pays it no mind, too lost in the fog of his mind. He wants to scream, to reach inside himself and rip his brain out. To force his mind to give him answers. But he can't do that, so instead he sits there, head between knees, biting his lips so hard he tastes blood.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting like this when he feels the mattress dip beside him. A warm hand comes to rest on his back and he flinches, head snapping up so fast he makes himself dizzy.

Jimmy winces apologetically. “Sorry.” He hands him a glass of water that he accepts gratefully. The water stings his lips but it helps soothe his headache, if only by a small amount. They sit there in silence for the rest of the day, basking in each other company.

Jimmy lets him have the bottom bunk, right underneath him. It feels strangely comforting to have him so close, to know that someone who seems to like him is right above him. He falls asleep easily for the first time since he can remember.

Someone is humming next to him, their melody just slightly out of tune. He's laying down under a cherry tree, blossoms falling softly all around him. The sun is warm on his face, not a cloud in sight in the bright blue sky.

He feels at peace, contempt.

The humming stops suddenly, replaced by a soft voice. “I was counting on you, you know?”

He turns his head and sees the boy with black hair and baby blue eyes. He's smiling, blood dripping from his lips. “You promised you’d make it. Why did you lie to me?”

He wakes up screaming. His hand flies to his mouth and he bites it until he draws blood. Sweat is making his hair cling to his forehead and the only sound he can hear is his own heart beating in his chest.

Someone grabs his arm and his whole body freezes. He squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation of what’s to come, his breaths coming out short and uneven.

“Hey! Hey!” The voice is soft, familiar. There’s a warm hand on his arm, grounding. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Jimmy slowly pulls his hand away from his mouth and frowns when he sees the little drops of blood covering it. “We’re going to sit down now, and you're going to breathe along with me, okay?”

He nods and does as he's told. Jimmy is taking slow and exaggerated breaths and he tries to match him as best as he can. It takes him a while, but eventually he manages to fall into a rhythm.

Jimmy stays with him all night, telling him stories about where he grew up in a hushed tone and he thinks, for the first time, that maybe he’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Very light violence and gore (like,,, so light)


	6. The boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this is so soft... where did all the angst go??? No warnings for this chapter my loves!! Hope you enjoy <3

It’s easy to settle in with Jimmy after that. The man is always kind to him, patient. He’s surprised to learn he has a great sense of humor too. He’s witty and sarcastic and he always seems to know how to how to alleviate a tense situation. It’s obvious that a lot of the men here look up to him. They come to him if a problem ever arises, or if they are simply in need of comfort.

Jimmy never lets him get too far out of his sight. He’s always there, telling a joke or simply being a reassuring presence. Most night, at dinner, they are joined by the two men he saw on his first day here. The redhead, Alex, seems to match Jimmy in terms of sarcastic jokes and both men like to spend time engaged in a friendly battle of wits that always leave everyone at their table in fits of unrestrained laugher. The other man, Samuel, is much more reserved. He never speaks much, seeming contempt to simply be in the company of his friends.

He isn’t scared all the time anymore and he’s stopped having as many nightmares. But on the nights they do come, leaving him terrified and confused, Jimmy is always there, his calm voice lulling him back to sleep.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever have the words to express how grateful he is for all that Jimmy does to for him. Whenever he tries to tell him, the sentence gets stuck in his throat, his voice unable to cooperate. Still, he hopes, deep down, that Jimmy knows how much he means to him.

They’re standing under the shade of the once, one particularly warm day, when Alex comes running up to them, his face completely red. Jimmy is immediately concerned, walking over to his friend and putting a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“They’re bringing-” Alex takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “They’re bringing in new prisoners. I heard a few of them are British and I thought that maybe-” He stops there, looking at Jimmy intently. 

The older man nods and pats his friend on the back. “Thank you. Go find Samuel, I’m sure he’ll want to know too.” 

The redhead leaves in search of his friend and Jimmy turns back towards him. “You want to come along?”

He nods. It’s not like he has anything better to do and he’s curious to see what all this commotion is about. They walk towards the entrance of the camp together, Jimmy seeming more these than usual. It puts him on edge, but he tries to stay calm, for his friend’s sake.

There are a few dozen men standing around near the camp gate. They’re both young and old, their skin pale and tan, their hair going from the darkest brown to the lightest blond. He doesn’t really understand what they’re doing here and he’s about to tell Jimmy this when he sees... 

His breath catches in his throat, there, amongst the men, is the boy from his dreams. He closes his fist, hard enough for his nails to break his skin. It hurts, and he’s not dreaming. He stands there, frozen in shock, when he hears Jimmy gasp. 

The shorter man eyes are wide and he’s gone pale as a ghost. He makes an aborted step forward, seeming out of balance, before he starts to run.

He can only watch in confusion as his friend runs through the courtyard and tackles the boy from his dreams so hard they both almost fall to the ground.

He stands there for a moment, completely shocked, before he moves closer to them, curiosity overtaking his stupor.

He stands there, confused, as he watches the two of them hug each other so tight it must be painful. Suddenly, the boy’s eyes land on him and it’s like the world stops around him.

He can’t name the expression in those pale blue eyes, but he does know he wants that boy to look at him this way for the rest of his life. He’s crying and yet his smile is bright, warmer than any sunshine he’s ever felt. “Will?” His voice is barely above a whisper, almost reverent.

“You did it…” The boy starts laughing, unbridled. “You found Joe. You saved my brother.”

He finds himself overwhelmed suddenly, the world around him becoming hazy and distant. His chest feels too tight, he can’t breathe. He needs to leave, to get as far away from Jimmy and the boy as he can.

He walks around camp for what feels like hours, his mind struggling to understand what happened. The boy from his dream is real, not some strange hallucination. And him and Jimmy, or is it Joe, are brothers too. And what did he mean when he said he’d saved Jimmy? Joe. Whichever. It’s not like they’d ever met before the camp, and the older man had never been in any danger here. And the boy had called him Will. Was that his name? If he knows his name, then that must mean that he knew him, knew who he was before he woke up in the staircase.

It’s too much. Everything is too loud, too bright. The pain in his skull is unbearable. He lets himself fall down on his knees, he doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t care.

He regains awareness when the soft glow of the moon has replaced the harsh light of the sun. He feels groggy and sore, he thinks he’s been crying, but he can’t really remember. He gets up painfully, the joints in his legs protesting his every movement. As much as he doesn’t want to, he has to go back to his bunk. Jim- Joe is surely worried about him now.

He finds Joe and his brother sitting on his bed, talking in hushed tones. The younger boy is on his feet the second he notices him. His brother follows his suit, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Tom.” It’s said as a warning, but the boy ignores it and shakes the hand off his shoulder.

He walks towards him slowly, eyes shining with unshed tears. “...Will? Joe told me about-” He stops and takes a deep breath, lips quivering. “He told me that you forgot a lot of stuff. But you must remember me, right?” 

His silence is answer enough.

The boy, Tom, is crying freely now, tears rolling down his soft face. “Come on Will, you must remember something, anything!”

“I’m sorry.” And he is, truly. The boy seems devastated and he feels like it’s his fault, like he should make it all better. Unfortunately for him, he has no idea how to fix this.

“You-” He stops, unsure if this is the right thing to say. “You called me Will. Is that my name?”

Tom gasps, a hand flying to his mouth. He stays silent for a few second and then he nods. “Yes. Your name’s William. Schofield. And you’re my best friend.”

They talk all night, sitting next to each other on his bed, Joe an ever-watchful presence just above them.

Tom follows him around constantly after that. Or maybe he’s the one following him, it’s hard to tell most days. Tom is always there, eager to answer his questions and always telling funny stories, each one more unbelievable than the next. 

The first time Tom makes him laugh, they’re sitting against a tree, basking in warm sunlight. He’s telling him a story about them, about a day they had while they were stationed in the south of France.

They had stumbled upon a group of kids playing football in the middle of the street. Tom had begged Will, giving his best puppy eyes, to join the game. Will had agreed, reluctantly, and soon enough they found themselves on opposite teams, both trying to one-up the other.

“Your team won in the end.” Tom is chuckling lightly, lost in the memory of that day. “But you had an unfair advantage, so it doesn’t count.”

Will raises an eyebrow, amused. “Oh yeah? What kind of advantage was that?”

Tom looks at him, head tilted as he pouts. “You got long ass legs, man.”

That startles a snort out of him. He looks at Tom, eyes wide. The other boy looks shocked for a few seconds and then he laughs, smile so wide it must hurt his cheeks. It’s the most beautiful thing Will has ever experienced.

Soon enough, he finds himself joining him. They both laugh until their sides hurt and their eyes are filled with tears. They’re still coming down from their high, giggling softly, when Tom kisses him.

Will is on his feet before he can even register what’s happening.

“Oh god…” Tom's soft blue eyes are wide in fear. “Will I’m so sorry! I- I shouldn’t have done this I’m so sorry.” He gets up too, trying to reach out for him and Will takes a step back instinctively.

“Will, please. Don’t leave me.” His voice is barely above a whisper and there’s so much fear written all over the boy’s usually joyful face that he doesn’t think he could walk away even if his life depended on it.

“... Okay.”

Tom's shoulders sag in relief at his words and he wipes away a stray tear, Will doesn’t comment on it. They sit back down against the tree, the air around them heavy now. Tom is quiet, too quiet, and Will hates it.

“Can you tell me a story about Myrtle?”

And just like that, it’s like nothing ever happened. Joe comes to join them later in the afternoon. Both brothers lean on each other as they fall asleep, safe in the other’s presence. Will smiles as he closes his eyes and, for the first time since he can remember, he feels at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, did you know Jimmy is also a common nickname for people named Joseph?? Wild.


	7. The illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much just a set up for the third act. I had to cut it shorter because it would have been... chunky. So instead I'm just making the pain last longer. You're welcome :) No warning for this chapter!!

Joe gets sick as the leaves on the trees become golden and orange. It starts small, a headache that lingers too long or muscles that ache for no reason. Will doesn’t realize how bad it is until Joe almost passes out in his arm one afternoon. He catches him, barely, and almost ends up face-first on the ground himself.

“Fuck.”

He’s never heard Joe swear before. He helps his friend regain his balance and they continue their walk towards the mess hall. They stay quiet, but Will has a feeling this won’t last too long. The Blake siblings are never good at keeping their mouth shut.

“Please don’t tell Tom.”

It’s not what Will was expecting, but he supposes he can work with this. “And what am I not supposed to tell him, exactly?”

Joe rolls his eyes, but still decides to humor him. “I know you’re not stupid Will. I’m not… fine.”

It’s not like Will didn’t know something was going on, but it still shocks him it hear it out loud. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that nobody can know.” Joe stops walking and grabs both of his arms. “And I mean no one, Will. They’ll take me away if they find out.”

So it’s bad. Really, really bad. He looks at Joe with wide eyes and nods. He’s not sure that keeping this from Tom is a good idea, but he’ll respect his friend’s wishes.

He spends the entire mealtime in silence, trying to avoid looking at Tom as best as he can. He knows that if he locks eyes with the boy, he won’t be able to keep his promise.

By the end of the evening, it’s clear Tom suspects something. He tries to be subtle, but he’s failing miserably.

“So…” He says, trying to appear nonchalant. “Anything interesting happens this afternoon while you were with Joe.”

“No, why?”

Tom shrugs. “I don’t know, just asking”

They leave it at that, Tom changing the subject effortlessly, but they’re this sort of heaviness between them now. Will doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to keep this secret for Tom. The boy is always honest with him, open. The stress of it starts to weigh on him more each day. Tom seems more distant, as if he’s angry at him for keeping a secret he doesn’t even know exist. He starts to have nightmares again, but this time, no one is there to soothe his panic away.

He doesn’t have to wait very long, barely a week later he wakes up to find that Joe is burning up with fever, unable to even get up from his bed. Will tries not to panic, but he knows that if they miss roll call, guards will come looking for them and they’re going to take Joe away.

“Come on Joe, you have to get up. You need to get up.” He tries to help him as best as he can, but he only manages to get him in a sitting position. Joe doesn’t help him at all, his eyes are glassy and his body is completely unresponsive. “You have to get up. You don’t want Tom seeing you like this right?”

That seems to get his attention. Joe’s eyes are on him suddenly and he grabs his arm, hard. “Will, listen to me. You two need to stick together, understand? He can’t do this alone. You can’t do this alone. Promise me you’ll watch over him for me.”

It’s an impossible promise to keep, they both know it. “Yes Joe, I promise.”

“Joe? What’s going on, why aren’t you up?” It’s Tom, neither of them had heard him walk up to their bunk. The second his eyes lay on his brother, the boy starts to panic. Will tries to calm him down as best as he can but there’s nothing he could ever do that could help fix this.

The guards find them not long after that. Will has to hold Tom back as they take his brother away. He’s kicking and screaming, his elbow hitting Will in the ribs more than once. It hurts and he’ll surely have bruises in the morning, but he ignores it, his grip staying strong.

He won’t let Tom do something stupid, he can't. The idea of the boy, tied to a wooden post for days, is enough to give him nightmares.

That night, he holds Tom close to his chest as he cries himself to exhaustion. Will, on his part, can’t close his eyes, his mind haunted by images of a young Russian boy with dirty blond hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has my favorite dialogue in the entire fic in it. Can you guess what it is ;)


	8. The escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I cried writing the end f this chapter. I'm soft okay!?

Tom is a lot quieter after that day. He avoids telling stories about home, about Joe. He acts more subdued, his once loud and bubbly demeanor his almost completely gone. He never finishes telling his jokes, like if Joe isn’t there to hear it, it’s not worth sharing them.

Will tires everything to make Tom feel better. He even tries making a few jokes, but the boy barely even acknowledge him. He feels like Tom is mad at him for keeping Joe’s illness a secret, but every time he tries to bring up the issue, the boy brushes him off, walking away from the conversation.

Tom does this a lot now too. He leaves in the middle of the day and doesn’t come back until nighttime. Sometimes he doesn’t even show up to the mess hall

Will’s been alone before, a lot even, but this kind of loneliness is worst. It hurts him to know that Tom could be right alongside him, but that the other boy simply doesn’t want to be.

It all changes one night, when Will is woken up by someone shaking him. His first instinct is to freeze, his mind immediately thinks of cold mud and of kicks to his ribs.

“Will! Wake up, come on!” It’s Tom. It’s the most animated he’s seen him look in weeks.  
“What’s going on?” He’s fully awake now, his panic from earlier chasing the sleep from his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Never been better. Now get up, we’re leaving!” Tom is tugging on his arm, trying to pull him out of his bed.

“... What?” His sleep heavy mind is struggling to understand what’s happening.

“I said we’re leaving! We’re going to see Joe.” Tom is getting impatient now and he pulls on his arm, hard, and gets him halfway out of the bed.

“Tom, would you calm down!” Will shakes him off and gets up the rest of the way by himself. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I meet some people and they’re planning an escape, tonight. They agreed to let us come along.” He starts walking away then, not bothering to make sure Will is following him.

Will has to jog to keep up, not believing what he’s hearing. “That’s madness. It’s never going to work.”

Tom looks offended, angry. “It’s not! It’s going to work. If you don’t want to come, you can just go back-”

“Don’t.” He wouldn’t leave him, never, but this isn’t a good idea. He knows he won’t be able to change Tom’s mind, so the least he can do is go with him, make sure he stays safe.

They meet with three other prisoners outside their house. The plan is simple, there’s only one German guarding the entrance at this hour. They only need to take him out and they can leave, as easy as that. Will has to bite his lips not to say anything as the men explain their strategy. It can’t be this simple, it never is.

As they near the entrance, Will’s heart starts beating incredibly fast. He doesn’t want to imagine what kind of consequences awaits them if they are found. He sees a man, walking in the darkness, and his breath cuts short. The German guard.

Before he can even react, one of the men runs up to him and punches him so hard he falls to the ground like a weightless doll. Will can’t believe his eyes. Their stupid plan worked.

Except the German wasn’t the only one watching the entrance. 

The second guard yells and everything goes wrong too quickly for Will to even understand what’s happening. He hears people yelling, in English and in German, and people fighting, struggling.

And then, in the darkness, a sudden flash, followed closely by a loud bang. Will hears are ringing, the shot came from right next to him. From where Tom was.

He screams Tom's name and the silence that answers him is deafening. The guards drag him away as he screams, again and again, begging Tom to answer him. Someone is yelling at him in German, probably ordering him to keep quiet, but he doesn’t care. He hears more shots and he feels like he can’t breathe. He screams Tom's name again and then something hits the back of his head.

He wakes up in a bed that’s not his own. He feels like his skull has been cracked open, the pain making him want to throw up. It takes him a few minutes, but he manages to open his eyes fully, trying to observe his surroundings. He’s in a cell that’s extremely small, it has no windows and the only source of light is an old lightbulb fixed on the ceiling.

He’s in solitary confinement.

Will wants to scream, to beg the guards to let him out and tie him to a post, he would take any other punishment instead of this. But he can’t scream, can’t even breathe as he lays there, fear seizing his heart. 

He doesn’t know how long they keep him there. He has no sense of time at all in this cell, he doesn’t even know if his meals are being delivered on a schedule or at random intervals and the light bulb never goes out, keeping everything lit by it’s sickly fluorescent light. He’s constantly tired, his headache relentless, and yet every time he closes his eyes he jolts awake in a panic, never being able to get more than a few minutes of rest.

He can’t think about Tom.

He paces around his cell in the hope of distracting himself for what could either be minutes or days, he has no idea. Every time his minds start to drift towards images of a boy with pale blue and eyes and a warm smile, he punches the nearest wall as hard as he can. 

He can’t think about Tom.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here when a guard finally, finally, opens the door. He walks mechanically outside the building, through the courtyard, and towards the house. It’s night outside, but he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t let himself think or feel anything. 

He’s shaking, both from fear and apprehension, once he reaches his destination. Most men are already sound asleep in their own bunk and he walks as lightly as he can between the rows of beds.

There are people sitting on his bunk, their back facing him. It’s Alex and Samuel and sitting between them is…

Tom.

He lets out a sob of relief as he falls to his knee, his last bit of strength gone. Tom is on him in an instant, holding him tight and apologizing profusely. They stay like this for a while as their crying ceases slowly, more out of exhaustion than anything else.

It’s Tom who speaks first, breaking the quiet in a soft voice. “We’re going to get up now, okay? 

He frowns and takes something out of his pockets. Bandages. Tom looks at him, a silent question, and Will nods, offering his right hand.

Tom takes it carefully, like it’s the most fragile thing he’s ever held. He wipes the blood away with the corner of his shirt, ever so careful. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he brings Will’s hand closer to his face and kisses each knuckle softly, almost reverently. 

Will stays quiet and watches as Tom gently wraps the piece of fabric around his hands. He repeats the process with his other hand, just as tenderly, and keeps Will’s left hand in his own once he’s done. They’re silent for a moment, neither of them wanting to break this peaceful silence. 

“We were in love, you know.” Tom’s voice is so quiet, he almost doesn’t hear him. “At least, I was. And I like to think that you were too.”

Will is quiet for a moment, unsure of how to answer. As much as he wishes he could, he doesn’t remember. “What about now?”

Tom is looking at him, blue eyes impossibly bright in the darkness.“What do you mean?”

“Do you still love me. Even if I'm not the same person I was before.”

Tom doesn't answer right away. He looks back down to Will’s hand and he starts gently playing with his fingers. “When we first met, I didn’t fall in love with you by accident, I chose to. I chose to love you because you were brave and kind and selfless. I don’t care that you’re not who you were then, because you’re still brave and kind and selfless and I chose to love this version of you too.”

Will doesn’t realize he’s crying until Tom wipes one of his tears away with his thumb. This time, it’s Will that kisses Tom, and neither of them pulls away. They stay like this all night, their limbs intertwined, not sure where one of them ends and the other begin. They don’t talk, they don’t need to. There are no words that could properly suggest how they feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some very light self-harm


	9. The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg I can't believe this is over? thank you so much for reading this, I love you. A big thank you to everyone on discord who gave me so much love while I did this. You guys are amazing and I love you so much. <3

Tom gets sick as the first snow leaves the entire camp covered in a white blanket. It starts small, a headache that lingers too long or muscles that ache for no reason. This time, Will realizes how bad it is as soon as the symptoms start. 

He tries everything he can to fix it, he gives Tom most of his food, makes sure he has plenty of water to drink and that he gets plenty of rest. But it’s not enough, it doesn’t change anything.

When he wakes up one morning to find Tom burning up with fever, unable to get up, Will is terrified. He tries his best to stay calm, he doesn’t want to scare Tom, but as is attempts to help him up keep failing, his nerves are starting to fray.

And when the guards come, he loses all composure. He fights off the guards as best as he can, punching and kicking blindly in his panic. He manages to hold them off for an instant, but their number quickly overwhelm him. A guard manages to knock his leg out from under him, sending him crashing face-first into the ground. The Germans are on him immediately, pinning him down roughly. He trashes uselessly in their hold, trying in vain to get up, to stop them from taking Tom away. He knows they’ll punish him for this, badly, but he can’t stand there and do nothing.

He watches, helplessly, as they take Tom away. The boy is too weak to fight the guards, he can only beg them to let him go, crying as he looks at Will, pale blue eyes filled with fear.

Will only has time to yell Tom’s name once before the butt of a rifle hits him in the head, knocking him out.

A year.

It’s been a year since the last time he saw Tom. It had taken him months to overcome the pain of it, dreaming every night of pale blue eyes looking at him in despair. The ache in his heart more painful than anything he’s ever felt. And then one day it had just stopped, his anguish replaced by a deep numbness.

Alex and Samuel try their best to help him, to keep his morale up, but their efforts are in vain. He just can’t feel anything. His best friend is gone. The boy he loves is gone. There’s nothing left for him anymore.

He’s sitting outside against a tree, in the snow, unable to feel his hands anymore but not caring about it, when Alex, followed closely by Samuel, come running up to him.

“Will, you’re not going to believe this!” The redhead's eyes are wild, filled with a mix of anticipation and joy. “They’re letting us go! The War is over, we won!”

The War… He’d almost forgotten about it. Again. To him, this war feels more like a myth, something the other prisoners talk about in hushed tones in the dead of the night, something he’s never experienced and only saw the consequences of. 

Alex quickly sobers up at his lack of reaction. “Will? Come on, we can leave. Come with us, we have to go.”

Again, he stays silent. Leave? And go where? He doesn’t remember where he lived before, doesn’t even know if he has any family waiting for him back in Britain. And as much as he cares about Alex and Samuel, he won’t leave with them, he can’t. As much as they try to hide it, he knows they love each other in a way that’s more than friendship. The two men deserve their peace and he refuses to let himself become a burden in their lives. 

Alex is about to say something else, but Samuel interrupts him by putting a hand on his shoulder. The two boys are looking at each other silently, seeming to have an entire conversation with just their eyes. And then Samuel turns towards Will, bends down, and kisses him on the forehead. He doesn’t say a word as he gets up, grabs Alex by the arm and leaves.

He watches them go until he can’t see them anymore, their form mixing with the hundreds of other soldiers leaving the camp. He stays there for a while, until the sun is low on the horizon, painting the snow around him a warm shade of gold.

He gets up slowly then, his muscles stiff from the cold. He ignores them and starts walking, outside the camp, and then alongside a road. He walks all night, the trees and the cold as his only companions. 

It’s late morning when he finally reaches a town, or at least the remnants of one. The people pay him no mind, he isn’t the only dead man walking they’ve seen today. He finds an half-destroyed building and leans down against it, trying to catch some sleep as the sun warms him up.

He wakes up once the sun is high in the sky, somewhere close to noon. There’s an old woman sitting on a bench two houses down from him. She beckons him closer with her hand and he complies, getting up with small difficulty from his sitting spot. He walks up to the old woman and she hands him a small piece of bunched up fabric. He unfolds it, curious, and finds a few slices of bread and half a brick of cheese.

He can’t take this. He’s about to refuse, but the woman pats his hand and waves him off, clearly signaling that this silent conversation is over. He nods, hoping that she understands how thankful he is for this.

Will starts walking again after that, eating some of the food the woman gave him as he follows the road towards the next town. He walks for almost two days, occasionally stopping to sleep against a tree, before he reaches the next town. It’s much bigger than the next one, and in a much better state too.

It doesn’t take him long to find a train station. There, the man in the ticket booth looks him up and down. “Anglais?”

He nods and the man reaches under the counter, taking out a small slip of paper

“Dunkerque.” The man says, pointing him towards a boarding platform. 

The train ride from wherever he is to Dunkirk takes almost three days. He spends most that time sleeping, the exhaustion of the last year finally catching up to him.

Once he disembarks the train, a man in uniform tell him to head over to the docks, there’s a boat heading to Dover coming in a few hours.

There are a few hundred men already waiting at the docks once he gets there. They look more like ghosts than humans, and Will supposes he must fit right in with them.

The boat he gets on is military issued, the personnel on it all part of the British Navy. They are offered food and medical help while they cross over to Britain. Will gladly takes the meal but shakes his head politely once a nurse comes to look him over.

The ride only takes a couple of hours and as he sets foot on British soil, he tries to hang on desperately to a memory. 

He and Tom are sitting on his bed, legs intertwined. It’s late, the men around them are sleeping, but he pays them no mind. On nights like these, Will feels like they’re the only two people in the world.

“Tell me about where you grew up.”

Tom looks at him, confused. He’s never the one who breaks the silence during these nights, but he wants to hear Tom’s voice, he wants to know more about him.

Tom obliges happily. He tells him about growing up in Dedham, on a small farm. He tells him about his mom, about the dad he never really know, about Joe. He tells stories about picking the cherries in May, about Myrtles and every dog he’s had. 

Dedham. Will hangs on to that name like a dying man hangs on to life. He finds the nearest train station and asks for a ticket. He doesn’t have any money, but nobody seems to mind.

He sets foot in Dedham the next day, not long after the sun has set. The town is extremely small, composed of a main road surrounded by forest and small farmland.

It doesn’t take him long to find the farm with the cherry trees, right where Tom told him it would be.

There’s a window on the side of the house that’s slightly open, the orange glow of a fire emanating through it. There’s the smell of something cooking coming through it, and he can also hear the sound of a woman humming slightly out of tune. The song is vaguely familiar, like something he heard in a dream once.

He hesitates on the front porch, not daring to knock. He has no way to know this is the right house, he might even be in the right town for all he knows. And what if it is the right house? Could he ever face the mother of the two men who meant the most to him?

The choice is taken from him when someone opens the door suddenly and he finds himself standing face to face with Joe. They both look at each other, eyes wide and bodies completely still, neither sure that the other is real.

And then Joe is hugging him so incredibly thigh that he has no choice but to accept that he’s actually there, and not just some messed up product of his imagination. They stay like this for a while, holding on to each other for dear life, before Joe pulls away slightly.

He takes Will by the arm and leads him inside the house, through a small living room, and into a warm kitchen.

And there, sitting at the kitchen table and looking at them in complete shock, is Tom.

Tom.

Eyes bright, cheeks pink and alive.

Will can’t stop the sob that’s ripped out of him at the sight, the only thing keeping him standing anymore is the strong grip Joe has on him.

Tom gets up so fast that his chair topples to the ground, but he ignores it as he practically runs through the kitchen and into Will’s arm.

Joe lets go of him and he falls to his knees, bringing Tom with him. The other doesn’t seem to care, or even notice. His grip on Will is almost bruising and repeats his name over and over, like a prayer, and for the first time in years, the world is truly at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful Georgie, who came up with the idea for this au, made this amazing playlist inspired by this fic!! Go give it a listen, it's so good!! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2f8h3qCo7DHrXfCtINt9xe?si=E8ghuD2kQFqJF0bwmH8Ipg

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for this chapter: Non-graphic depiction of dead bodies.


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